November
by Eclipse of the Sun
Summary: Reflections and thoughts different cats have on their old territory, their journey, and their new home. Some spoilers for Starlight.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hope you all like this. This fic is called _November _because 1)It is set in the month of November, and 2)Like the song November (by Mythos), this fic mostly portrays feelings of loss and longing. Or angst. Depends on how you want to put it.

**Summary: **Some views and thoughts three different cats have on their new home; set after Starlight. Some things are based off assumptions I've made or are things I'd like to happen (but obviously I have no idea if the events I mention will actually come true).

**Disclaimer: **Should I even bother typing it?

;-;-;-;

Birchpaw sighed softly and stretched out his forelegs, absorbing what little sunlight broke through the thick clouds. Narrowing his eyes to amber slits, he peered around camp, his gaze roaming up the rock walls.

He remembered the old camp, the one that had been on the other side of the mountains. He'd barely been two moons when the Clans fled the territory that had belonged to them for generations, so his memories of the old camp were dim. The nursery stood out in his mind: a tangle of brambles, a wall of thorns that had shielded him and his siblings from the wind and rain. He also knew the camp itself had been a ravine; he could recall the rocky slope.

Then the monsters had come, chewing up the ground and ripping up trees. He dimly remembered the Clan leaving the camp and staying in the poor shelter near the river. The day Hollykit had died also stood out in his mind, yet he rarely felt sad when he thought about it. He'd been young, barely able to comprehend death, and it was some time before he really understood what had happened to his sister. Once he knew what had become of Hollykit and why she wasn't around to play anymore, too much time had passed for him to be truly affected by it. He closed his eyes completely for a moment, knowing it sounded horrible that hewas hardly affectedby his sister's death.

Opening his eyes to slits again, Birchpaw sighed a second time. What he remembered most was cold and hunger, and fear. All three had always been around him, no matter how brave the other cats had tried to be. Barely two moons old, and the scents he smelled most often, aside from general cat scent, was the fear-scent and hunger-scent. Those memories made him shiver, and sometimes he even felt slightly ill thinking about the days by the river.

He also had flashing memories of the journey to this territory. The recollections were only flashes because his mind had been dulled by the hunger and cold. He knew the Clans had crossed over mountains, and that there had been deep snow and many black, jagged rocks. He could remember the cave the Clans had stayed in briefly, and the warmth and food and sense of security the cave had contained.

With a slight pang, he thought of Applekit. Well, she was Apple_paw_ now, but she'd been Applekit during the journey. He still saw her at Gatherings, and he caught her scent sometimes when he patrolled around the ShadowClan border. He was the only apprentice in ThunderClan right now, and Applepaw was the first cat he looked for at Gatherings because they were within days of each other's ages and they felt strongly connected to one another.

Birchpaw sighed for a third time and stood, arching his back. With the exception of not being able to play with Applepaw as he had on the Clan's journey, life in ThunderClan's lakeside home was good. The whole Clan was well-fed; none of the constant hunger he remembered from his kithood. There was shelter. No roaring monsters came tearing through the trees. The territory was safe, aside from the occasional badger or fox.

So why did he sometimes long to be back in the old nursery, the one that no longer existed?

;-;-;-;

Cinderpelt raised her head suddenly from the comfrey she was digging up. _Yellowfang?_ She asked silently, peering through the trees. Shaking her head, she returned to her work. For a moment, she'd thought she heard her old mentor's rasping laugh.

Despite the moons that had passed, Cinderpelt still felt a pang of sorrow whenever she thought of the former medicine cat. She still saw her friend at the Moonpool. She still saw her in dreams, sometimes. With a quiet laugh that was no more than a short, amused huff, Cinderpelt knew what Yellowfang would say if she could hear her: Live in the present, let go of the past. Let go of the old territory, accept and love the new. Let go of her friend Yellowfang.

But could Cinderpelt really let go of Yellowfang? She wasn't in the past; Cinderpelt saw her when she journeyed to the Moonpool. How could you let go of someone who both existed and did not exist?

Yellowfang's scent drifted over on a faint breeze. Cinderpelt closed her eyes, feeling comforted that the old medicine cat had come. "Leafpool," whispered the voice that belonged to the scent, reminding Cinderpelt of ThunderClan's other medicine cat.

Cinderpelt opened her eyes, worry twisting in her belly. She had to look after Leafpool now. _Not look after, _she corrected herself. _Keep an eye on._ Regardless of what Firestar's daughter said, Cinderpelt knew something was going on between her former apprentice and that WindClan tom. Difficulties of nearly every sort reared their heads when the Clans first came here, and more than one still lingered: tests of loyalty. Leafpool, though highly skilled in herbs and healing, was torn between loyalty to her Clan and her place in it and the gray WindClan tom.

Resuming her work, Cinderpelt flicked her ears. Things would work themselves out in the end.

;-;-;-;

Firestar padded slowly through the trees, shivering slightly in the late leaf-fall chill despite the thickening of his coat. Settling down on a clump of moss, he wrapped his tail around himself and looked around. He liked to come to this particular part of the forest to think. Sometimes he came alone, sometimes with Graystripe or Sandstorm. The way the trees grew here, the way some trails ran and where a rabbit hole was, reminded him strongly of a place in ThunderClan's old territory.

While he no longer felt the need to look over his shoulder every few minutes, felt more comfortable among once-unfamiliar trees and landmarks, this place still didn't feel like _home_ to him. The Clans hadn't even been in their new lad for four seasons yet, but he thought it would _never_ feel like home. At least not for quite some time. Not to him.

True, he hadn't been born in the old forest, but he'd been born right next to it, and had spent several moons looking into it from atop his kittypet fence. The old forest was where he'd grown up the most, the place he'd met Graystripe, been made a warrior and deputy, where Bluestar and Spottedleaf were buried. Those were the first boundaries he had fought to defend. The Moonstone had been there, too. While the Clans had the Moonpool now, it wasn't the _same. _

He had an ability to adapt to new surroundings, but leaving the place he'd called home for over eight seasons still pained him, sometimes. He knew it was different for the kits who had already been born here; they would not remember the old forest. They would not have dreams that they were back among the trees that were now destroyed. The kits' parents would tell them of the old place, perhaps, but the little warriors still wouldn't really understand. It would be like that for the second litter of his kits Sandstorm was expecting. He and Sandstorm could tell them everything, but they still wouldn't have clear pictures of a different land.

Eventually, he knew, tales of the Clan's old territory would fade away. It would be like the Clans had always lived _here_, and that there had never been another place.

Firestar stood, arched his back, looked around at the trees that almost mirrored those of the old land, and started back to camp.

;-;-;-;

**A/N:** If people want the points of views of other cats, mention it and I'll try and bang something out. I'd just selected these three, but I'm willing to do more if anyone so desires.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Well, I suppose this is kind of a work-in-progress now; more was requested, and so more shall be written. I'm probably going to do two or three cats per chapter. I'm perfectly happy to write cats that aren't ThunderClan; I'd make attempts at Crowfeather or maybe Tawnypelt if anybody so desires.However, I refuse to do _very _minor, obscure characters.

Anyway, moving along...

;-;-;-;

Ferncloud made her way towards the lake, her steps slow but sure. A trail was beginning to appear, a thin line of dirt weaving through the trees and undergrowth. She had often walked this exact path, her paws beating down grass and ferns until they could no longer grow there, defeated by the she-cat who diligently walked to the lake.

Settling down in her accustomed place, Ferncloud wrapped her tail around herself, shivering slightly; her pelt had not yet thickened enough to keep her warm. Bending her neck, she lapped up some of the icy water, watching neat ripples fan out. Raising her head, Ferncloud shuddered hard as she remembered what was coming up.

In a little less than a moon, it would be four seasons since Larchkit had died. Not long after that would come the day that Hollykit went to StarClan, and then would come Shrewpaw...Five kits birthed, three in StarClan. _No cat should have to bury their kit,_ Ferncloud thought. Bitterness washed over her as she pictured her kits, kits that should be warriors in ThunderClan right now, or nearly warriors. Birchpaw was almost there.

Ferncloud couldn't decide which was worse: knowing that three of her kits would never receive warrior names, would forever be stuck as kits in the ranks of StarClan; or her constant, gnawing fear that something would happen to Spiderleg, Birchpaw, or Dustpelt. She knew that her eldest son had been a warrior for three seasons now, that her mate had been a warrior longer than she, and that Birchpaw was strong, but still...sighing, Ferncloud tucked her paws under her belly, trying to conserve as much warmth as possible. When she needed to mourn all she had lost, she came here, and did not leave until she was ready to face the Clan.

She wasn't quite ready to go back to camp yet.

_StarClan protect them,_ she thought, gazing up at the light purple sky, darkening with the advancing dusk. After a moment she remembered that begging StarClan to protect her kits was useless. Back in the old territory, hadn't she done just that uncountable times? And still three of her most beloved had been taken from her. Ferncloud wasn't sure whether she could have faith that StarClan really cared about all the cats in the forest; so much had been taken from her and others.

Then again, maybe StarClan hadgiven her kits a place to stay, a forest full of prey and always in full greenleaf. With all the dangers the Clans had faced during their journey across the mountains, the dangers that trailed after them as they settled into their new territory and still haunted many, maybe her kits would have died anyway. Ferncloud recalled how much trouble she'd had just keeping Birchpaw warm and awake over the mountains; could she have managed his now-dead siblings as well?

_I suppose StarClan really do know what they're doing, _thought Ferncloud, her gaze still fixed on the twilight sky. After a beat, she shook her head and rose to her feet, ready to go back to camp. _But then, you never can be sure._

If she had stayed a few minutes longer, Ferncloud would have seen the first three stars of Silverpelt shimmer into being.

;-;-;-;

Squirrelflight looked up from her evening meal, searching out the cat she scented. With a strange twinge, she found him among the rest of the Clan, his amber eyes fixed on the ground. Trying to be discreet, she followed Brambleclaw with her eyes, keeping her gaze trained on his shoulders as he walked to a corner of the camp, alone.

Huffing a short sigh through her nose, Squirrelflight felt the now-very-familiar wave of highly mixed emotions wash over her. She remembered many moons ago, getting on four seasons now, when she had first crossed the mountains with Tawnypelt, Feathertail, Crowfeather–Crowpaw, he'd been then–Stormfur, and Brambleclaw. Every day, Squirrelflight had followed Brambleclaw with her eyes, trying to flank him. What she'd first thought of as a close bond similar to the one she shared with Leafpool turned into a crush, and, in a surprisingly short time, that grew into love.

Yes, Squirrelflight knew she had once been in love with Brambleclaw.

"_My heart is with ThunderClan; don't you know that? My heart is with _you_." _

She could dimly remember telling him that moons ago, when the Clans were leaving the Tribe's cave and Stormfur made the decision to stay behind. Brambleclaw had been jealous when she said she'd miss Stormfur; her words had reassured him that she was loyal to him. Brambleclaw gave _her_ no such assurances when Hawkfrost came.

_Well, no_, she corrected herself. Hawkfrost had always been there, a shadow that lingered no matter how bright the sun. What came was Brambleclaw's discovery that he was kin to the RiverClan warrior, and with that came his delusion that Hawkfrost could be trusted. As boundary lines were established and old rivalries rose again, Brambleclaw spent more time wanting to see and talk to his half-brother than he did with her.

From across camp, Brambleclaw, sensing that he was being watched, lifted his head from his fresh-kill. Squirrelflight quickly dropped her eyes before he could catch her staring. Turning her head left, she felt a stab of pain. Brackenfur and Sorreltail lay side by side, sharing a piece of fresh-kill. Their tails were looped together, their heads close in private conversation. Something sunk deep into Squirrelflight, penetrating every muscle; she would never call it envy, but it had no other name.

She and Brambleclaw had lay together like that a few times, and, if she was completely honest with herself, she missed it.

Standing and arching her back, Squirrelflight headed towards the warrior's den, retiring earlier than she normally did. As she ducked under the overhanging rock, she sensed a pair of eyes on the back of her neck. Turning her head, she just caught Brambleclaw whipping his head in a different direction. In past moons, when things were much more rocky between them, his stare might have angered her. Now, it made her fractionally more cheerful.

Maybe there was some hope for a rekindled friendship yet.

;-;-;-;

**A/N:** I haven't forgotten that other cats were requested; I'm working on them, so don't harp at me because they weren't included in this update. More to come, and again, mention cats you'd like a section on, critisize, praise, etc.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thanks to reviewers! Just a note: when no new cats are requested, I'll stop writing this. I'll write the ones already asked for (Leafpool, Goldenflower, Stormfur, Brambleclaw, and Crowfeather), but once I write them, if no new requests show, no more updates.

;-;-;-;

Goldenflower shifted in her nest, wincing as small flames burned in her joints. Nosing a wad of moss around until it was in the proper position, she rested her chin on it, her green eyes scanning the camp. Beside her, Longtail shifted in his sleep, murmuring softly. Across the den, Mousefur sat hunched, her ears flat against her head. The brown she-cat had argued with Squirrelflight, an event growing more frequent; neither fiery she-cat knew how to back down from an argument with the other.

Tucking her tail under her body, Goldenflower felt a prickle of pride as she saw Brambleclaw padding over to the fresh-kill pile; her son had done so much, had put so much energy into serving his Clan, had risked his life to find this new home. So had Tawnypelt.

And to think she'd nearly stayed behind, along with Frostfur and Speckletail.

She was old, the oldest cat in ThunderClan. Just moving from the camp to Sunningrocks had made her hurt; a journey across sloping mountains had not sounded appealing in the least, no matter how good the promise of beautiful new territory on the other side. She'd intended to be buried in the land she'd grown up in, been made a warrior in, raised her kits in.

But when the Twoleg monsters advanced, closing in on Sunningrocks, she'd given in and decided to leave. In past seasons, when she was younger and stronger and more prepared to battle danger presented to her, she might have stayed in the old territory regardless of the Twoleg dangers. But she was old, growing deaf and blind, her joints stiffening until it felt like they were blocks of stone. She couldn't have fought a Twoleg if she put every effort into it.

StarClan, she hardly made the journey in one piece. If it hadn't been for Longtail, she might not have made it. She could very well have given up and lain down in the snow and let herself die. Some elders retained their strength and drive, others did not; Goldenflower had lost her warrior's determination to live. Longtail kept her walking every heartbeat of the journey, gave her determination to keep climbing over the snowy drifts.

It wasn't that she was in love with the pale tabby, it was that he needed her. He was blind as a vole in broad sunlight, and, though in theory any cat could have guided him across the mountains, he had trusted only her to do it. Even now, as he was learning how many steps it took to reach certain places in the camp, he preferred to have Goldenflower by his side.

They made an odd sort of team, Goldenflower and Longtail. She made sure he came across no danger when he needed to get someplace, and he could hear things she couldn't. It was getting harder for her to keep up with him, though; Longtail was barely older than Firestar, and still had some swiftness in his uncertain steps. Goldenflower was much older, and the journey to the new territory had stiffened her joints rapidly.

He would need to find a different cat to help guide him soon; Goldenflower could sometimes hear StarClan whispering to her, especially on cold, late-leaf-fall twilights like this one. Beside her, Longtail shifted slightly, and briefly opened his milky-green eyes before squeezing them shut again.

_StarClan protect him when you take me from his side._

;-;-;-;

Stormfur ducked under a low-hanging rock, dragging the falcon he had clamped in his jaws. Behind him, Crag and Talon, two cave-guards, and Wing, another prey-hunter, filed into the cave as well. Straightening up, Stormfur padded over to the caught-prey pile and deposited his falcon.

"Storm!" called Bird, coming over to him. "Take that to Brook. She has not eaten since late dawn." Stormfur nodded, then picked up his falcon again and headed for the more sheltered, private area of the cave where queens–kit-mothers, the Tribe called them–stayed.

Brook had given birth to her first litter of kits–his kits!–and could no longer hunt. Stormfur nodded in response as some cats called friendly greeting to him, some calling him Stormfur, others just Storm. As was natural in the Tribe, many shortened his name, while others, like Brook, called him only by his Clan name. He didn't mind; he sort of liked having two names, Clan and Tribe, even if his Tribe name just left out "fur".

He purred a greeting to Brook, who was curled around their two kits, only a quarter-moon old. The she-kit, whose name was Feather Of Gray Bird, in honor of Feathertail, was a silver tabby like her namesake. The tom was a light brown tabby like Brook, named Call Of Hunting Hawk. Wordlessly, Stormfur settled next to Brook and began sharing his falcon with her.

He had been hesitant to name his daughter; for one, toms rarely named their kits. For another, Crowfeather had already honored Feathertail's memory in his own warrior name. Still, this way Feathertail lived on in the Clans and in the Tribe.

Stormfur felt a pang of sorrow at his sister's death, despite the seasons that had passed. _She_ had been chosen by StarClan to find Midnight; why had she, one of the chosen, died? He'd gone with her because he'd been _worried_; shouldn't he have known his sister was a warrior and could take care of herself on a journey StarClan had selected her for? StarClan wouldn't have chosen her if they didn't think she had the strength to cope.

He _was_ glad he'd gone, though, insisting to accompany her on a journey to a distant place no Clan cat knew of. If he hadn't gone, he wouldn't have gotten a chance to say good-bye to Feathertail, would have been unsettled at the knowledge that she was buried among strangers, far from home.

She was the reason he was here now, with a mate and kits, somehow happy in a harsh world of ice and snow, and none of the rivers or trees of their old territory. He'd never known Silverstream, and Graystripe had been taken by the Twolegs; he'd had no kin. The closest he could get was to live in the cave where Feathertail had sacrificed herself, honoring her memory.

Admittingly, it had been difficult for him when the hunting patrol he was on found Graystripe floundering through the snow three moons ago; here was the last kin he had, alive, and headed for the Clan's new home. Graystripe had stayed with the Tribe for three days, gathering his strength, telling Stormfur all that had happened when he was with the Twolegs. When Graystripe had left, Stormfur had showed him the way the Clans had gone...and had nearly gone with him.

Now, Stormfur knew that even if he'd gone down to the new forest and found RiverClan, he wouldn't have belonged. His pelt had now permanently thickened to cope with the cold that clung in all four seasons. He hunted in the Tribe fashion now; he'd almost completely forgotten how to hunt in a forest environment and how to fish. And now he had more kin in the Tribe than he did in the Clans.

Stormfur yawned, his jaws gaping wide. _I have found my place._

;-;-;-;

**A/N: **I know Leafpool has been requested by a few people, but I'm finding it difficult to write her. A new suggestion: in requesting cats, maybe say what you'd like included in their section? Like, for Brambleclaw, would people like to see him thinking about Squirrelflight, or Hawkfrost, or Tawnypelt? I'd also like some constructive criticism.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Wow! Such speedy responses! New requests have been jotted down alongside the others.

;-;-;-;

Brambleclaw plodded towards the fresh-kill pile, his gaze fixed on the ground. Mechanically, he picked up a mouse and headed for a far corner of the camp. Stretching out, he began picking at the mouse, not really interested in eating.

The day before, Brambleclaw had been on patrol with Whiteflower, Sorreltail, and Cloudtail. They'd been renewing the scent markings around the RiverClan border, and found Leopardstar, Hawkfrost, and other RiverClan warriors on ThunderClan territory. Brambleclaw had intended to chase them off with a warning. Then Cloudtail had to go and readily insult, taunt, and otherwise debase Leopardstar and RiverClan in general.

Naturally, his colorful choice of language hadn't gone over well with the RiverClan cats, who responded with attack.

Brambleclaw would have preferred to bash around Cloudtail than Hawkfrost and his Clanmates; the white tom, regardless of his many-season-long warrior status, still had the maturity of a kit on occasion.

Sorreltail had pushed Hawkfrost right into Brambleclaw, who had to make a split-second choice between his Clan his kin. He chose the Clan, gave his half-brother a deep nick in his left ear, and scored his claws down his shoulder, drawing blood. Then Leopardstar intervened, coming between the half-brothers, saving Brambleclaw from injuring his kin more. The RiverClan cats fled shortly after, leaving Brambleclaw staring after them, feeling guilty.

He remembered, once, when the Clan was still living at Sunningrocks, that he himself had said that a cat's Clan on a whole meant more than actual kin. Now he wasn't so sure. While Squirrelflight was not his kin, she meant more to him than the Clan on a whole; she had for some seasons.

_Now if she could just get that through her thick head..._

He was weary of not speaking to her. He was tired of trying to convince her that he had as much right to talk to Hawkfrost as she had with Leafpool. It was getting on four seasons they'd lived here, and still things weren't right between them. Things were better than they had been, that was definite; they could now be assigned on patrol together and not have the urge to fight. They could even exchange bland conversation. But he knew Squirrelflight wouldn't even consider a fresh start unless he apologized for wanting to see and talk to his half-brother.

Sensing he was being watched, Brambleclaw raised his head and just caught Squirrelflight whipping her head away. His whiskers twitched, and he felt a brief rush of warmth, just like he used to. Then it passed, leaving him feeling colder than he had before.

He had a choice: his kin, Hawkfrost, or Squirrelflight. If he chose Hawkfrost, there was the possibility he would spend the rest of his life mourning what he had lost with Squirrelflight, thinking about what might have been. If he chose Squirrelflight, it would mean avoiding Hawkfrost like he had blackcough. And then, even if he did choose Squirrelflight, there was the potential that she would think he had taken far too long to choose her, and would be insulted.

_Why can't things be the way they were before, before this whole mess started?_

Torn, confused, and wretched, Brambleclaw followed Squirrelflight with his eyes as she walked towards the warrior's den. She paused for a moment, and then it was his turn to whip his head away as she turned to face him. Out of the corner of his eye, Brambleclaw saw her tail tip wave, a habit she had when she was pleased.

In spite of his defeated mood, he felt a small prick of happiness.

Maybe there was some hope for a rekindled friendship yet.

;-;-;-;

Crowfeather climbed up the slope, his claws making clicking sounds against the rocks that jutted out from the grass. Reaching the top of the hill, he looked over the moor, with its tall grass and heather that was dying in the leaf-fall chill. A bitter blast of wind swept up the slope and hit Crowfeather full in the face; he barely blinked. Like any other WindClan cat, he had grown up with these winds buffeting him constantly, and had long since gotten used to them.

He did wince, though, as a second, much more gentle breeze blew by him, carrying a small, silvery feather. _Oh, Feathertail. _He was fine seeing the red and brown plumage of the hawks that flew over the plains, but seeing silver or gray feathers always made him flinch in remembrance of the gentle she-cat who had done so much to make him feel comfortable with the group of six on the first journey over the mountains.

He'd only gone on the first journey to find Midnight because StarClan had chosen him. If Tallstar or a warrior had told him to, he would have refused. He'd had his warrior ceremony ahead of him. Now, looking back on it, Crowfeather was pretty certain that his ceremony was the _only_ thing he'd had in the old territory. He never developed the close mentor-apprentice bond with Mudclaw, he was independent to the point of being stand-offish, and none of the she-cats ever took his fancy.

At first, he thought he was responding to Feathertail because she was the only she-cat who had bothered to try and break open his shell. Then he attributed his attraction towards her to the close contact he'd had with her, the dangers he'd faced with her. At some point, he realized that if the latter were true, he would be feeling the same way towards Squirrelflight and Tawnypelt.

Watching the silver feather spiral away on the breeze, Crowfeather sighed and headed down the other side of the slope. He remembered when all four Clans were going across the mountains, bound for this new place, and had stopped for shelter and food in the Tribe's cave. He'd barely been able to stand staying in the cave for the short time they did; everywhere he went, he heard Feathertail's voice, caught the faintest hint of her scent, saw her blue eyes dancing as she looked at him, felt the soft brush of her fur.

Crowfeather, lost in thought and memories, failed to see the sudden, quick dip in the hillside and tumbled, head over tail, down the rest of the incline. Coming to a stop at the bottom, unhurt, he felt hot with embarrassment, regardless that no other cats were with him. Standing, he shook the dead, crunchy bits of grass from his pelt and briefly smoothed his rumpled fur. For a single, fleeting moment, he was both delighted and crushed to hear the soft, teasing purr he knew to be Feathertail's. Whether it was actually there or imagined, he had no way to tell.

_StarClan above, _he thought, _Sometimes I think I'm losing my mind._

Pushing through a clump of bracken, Crowfeather reminded himself, perhaps for the hundredth time, what was coming up: the anniversary of Feathertail's death. She had done so much; made him feel comfortable with the other chosen cats, given him a reason to keep walking when he was practically dead on his feet...sacrificed her life, her whole future, for the sake of strangers. Suddenly furious, Crowfeather scored his claws against the dry ground, leaving four long, whisker-thin slices in the dirt.

_You didn't have to die. Feathertail, why couldn't you have landed differently, so you wouldn't have been injured inside?_ _That's what killed you, the bad landing..._Crowfeather made a high-pitched keening sound in his throat, thankful that no other cats were present to see him like this. Normally he was tough, could take on just about anything, but remembering Feathertail turned him into a frightened kit.

"_Remember the other._" Crowfeather jerked his head up, looking for the source of her voice, searching for a pale outline of her.

"Oh, Feathertail, you're wrong," he murmured. "I can't. Not with her. She's a medicine cat. It's too dangerous for both of us. It's better if we see each other only at the Gatherings."

"_Wrong."_

Crowfeather growled lightly, knowing he wasn't imagining the voice. Feathertail's spirit did that sometimes, visited him in dreams and the waking world, badgering him about ThunderClan's younger medicine cat.

Shaking himself, he padded over to a small pool of water that had collected from the rain of the two previous days. Bending his head, he lapped up some of the water, icy from the cold air. Raising his head, he stared at his reflection for a moment. It was disrupted by a series of ripples running across it. Crowfeather blinked as a small, brown leaf floated across the little pool. He knew what it meant. It had happened before. He just chose to deny the meaning. He couldn't be with her. Couldn't love her, for more than one reason. Shaking his head slowly, he turned and walked away, leaving the little pool, and the leaf, behind.

;-;-;-;


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Finally cobbled together a Leafpool section. Updates will slow down on this for two reasons: 1) My other WIP, By the Fire of the Sun, is prioritized. Why? Just because. 2) I've made Honors English for freshman year (this coming school year, in other words) and I have to finish some summer writing assignments for that. And yes, while I have a whole month to finish the English assignments, I procrastinate, so better to finish the stuff that has a deadline than this, which I can pick up any time.

;-;-;-;

Leafpool shook a clod of mud from her forepaw, pausing in her self-assigned duty of digging up marigold. There were few of the fiery flowers this time of season, and the petals on those that remained were brown and crinkled. Fortunately, she was after the roots as well as the soft petals, so at least one stock item would be easily replenished.

With the cleaner of her forepaws, she rubbed at her eyes; last night had been a sleepless one. A combination of one of Mousefur's frequent complaints, Brightheart getting a sudden onset of whitecough, Spiderleg getting a bellyache from a bad vole, Longtail's eyes bothering him particularly badly, and a wave of bitter regret and longing she felt wash through Squirrelflight and linger for a long time had kept her awake. Even working tag-team with Cinderpelt ("I'm in the middle of this; cover for me?" "Sure, but only if you take over this–"), the list of complaints grew steadily throughout the evening and well after moonhigh. At one point, Leafpool had nipped out of camp for a moment to gather extra supplies needed for Spiderleg, had pushed under a bush, emerging into a small clearing where she found Brackenfur and Sorreltail together. Embarrassed, though they did not notice her, Leafpool backed out of the clearing, feeling a wave of jealously break over her.

Normally she was glad for Sorreltail, happy that he friend had found the right cat. But seeing Brackenfur and Sorreltail–and the other couples ThunderClan harbored–sometimes gave her a fierce jolt of downright jealousy and biting envy. They had what she did not. They had what she _could _not, _would _not--

_Stop it, _she told herself firmly. _No matter how right it feels, you can't have him. It doubly_ _breaks the warrior code; no mates outside the Clan, no mates for medicine cats. Get over it. Your life is fine._

Her life _was _fine, actually. The WindClan medicine cat, seasons older than Cinderpelt, asked Leafpool's advice at times. Leafpool shared a bond with StarClan greater than almost any ever known of. She had survived the journey over the mountains, and before that, the dragging days spent locked inside the Twoleg cage. Her Clan had found a fine new home, with plenty of prey, plenty of herbs, rare Twolegs, occasional foxes or badgers. She had friends, in ThunderClan and outside it, and she shared a close bond with her sister.

Involuntarily, Leafpool curled a lip in an angry grimace. Squirrelflight had Brambleclaw, and was too outright _stubborn _to acknowledge the fact that she did. If she would just get her head out the dark hole she kept it in nowadays, she would see that Brambleclaw still loved her the way he had moons ago, still wanted her. Sometimes Leafpool wanted to just have a completely out-of-character day and yell at her sister for being so determinedly blind.

A harsh call from high overhead startled Leafpool out of her thoughts. Looking up through the nearly-bare trees, their skeletal branches stark black against the soft, blue-gray sky, she saw a dark shape flap past. Something drifted down from it; following the thin shape as it spiraled down with her eyes, Leafpool watched it float gently down onto the ground in front of her. It glinted in the dimming light, a thin, neatly shaped crow's feather.

Leafpool stared at the slim feather as though her life depended on it. How many times had this happened? She'd lost count. She knew what it meant, but each time told StarClan the same thing: _I can't. We can't. It's too risky. He'll find another._ And each time she told her ancestors that, a soft snort would sound in her ears. _Stubborn fool, _it always said. It was Yellowfang, Cinderpelt's old mentor; Leafpool had met the sharp-tongued former medicine cat at the Moonpool some moons ago.

Leafpool sighed, the small exhalation sending the small feather tumbling across the ground. StarClan knew they had _tried _to work something out; they'd talked at Gatherings, met a few times along the stream where their territories met, but...it didn't work. Crowfeather still mourned the loss of Feathertail, becoming increasingly temperamental as the anniversary of her death approached. He was also just too afraid he would lose Leafpool, feared she would die, leaving him utterly alone.

_So which one of us is the bigger fool?_

;-;-;-;

**A/N: **I know I said I'd do two cats per update, but I wanted to post Leafpool's section on its own. And just because I need to rant, I want the upcoming Warriors books NOW. Twilight, Sunset, Power of Three, Firestar's Quest, etc. I've spent the summer re-reading every single book I own twice, including the ones over 800 pages, and I need more Warriors to calm myself down. Okay, I'm done now. Ignore my rants.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Here's Hawkfrost; I quite enjoyed writing him, and I got to convey my feelings about a certain someone's name... It'sanother single section, soI'll try to do at least two in the next update. Oh, and my family is going down the shore this Saturday, and we'll be gone until the nineteenth. So there won't be any updates at all next week. I'll try to do another update by Friday.

;-;-;-;

Hawkfrost sat on the edge of the stream, his ice-blue gaze directed towards ThunderClan territory. Shifting slightly on the clump of dried-out moss he sat on, he scented the air: murky scents of wet tree trunks and soggy dead leaves, the clean scent of the stream, thick mud-scent, cold air with a lingering trace of rain-scent, the sharp scent of a tame fire some Twolegs had built in one of their nests, and, obviously, ShadowClan and ThunderClan scent.

It was hard for him to try and catch Brambleclaw when it wasn't a Gathering; ShadowClan land stood in between RiverClan and ThunderClan territories. Regardless, Hawkfrost and Blackstar had an agreement: Blackstar allowed Hawkfrost to walk along the very edge of ShadowClan land to look into ThunderClan territory, and Hawkfrost would give ShadowClan any information he managed to uncover. It had worked, so far.

Brambleclaw was naïve. He believed that Hawkfrost wanted to see him for brotherly reasons. Kinship and all that. _Softhearted fool, like the rest of them, _Hawkfrost thought viciously. By acting the gruff-but-well-meaning-and-loyal half-brother, Hawkfrost had weaseled enough information out of Brambleclaw to be useful: which of the warriors were ill or weakened because of the cold and such. Stupid cat. Didn't he realize he was giving out ThunderClan's weaknesses? He must've at some point, because one day he clammed up tight.

Still, Hawkfrost knew just enough to cause some damage in ThunderClan. He could tell Brambleclaw was torn between that Squirrelflight warrior–hideous name, he actuallypitied her–and Hawkfrost himself. If Hawkfrost disposed of the ginger she-cat, there would be no decision: Hawkfrost would be there, Squirrelflight would not.

Hawkfrost wanted Brambleclaw in his ranks of followers for when he ran the whole forest. RiverClan were fools; Leopardstar was strong but followed the warrior code, Mistyfoot was weak...the warriors who liked Hawkfrost were useful, because they would follow him unquestioningly. Some who trailed after him hoping to impress were just young, gullible cats, others were powerful and intelligent, and helped Hawkfrost with his plans.

Lost in thought, Hawkfrost had let his guard down, and almost let himself be seen by Graystripe, who walked slowly across the ThunderClan border. Flattening himself to the ground, blending in with the leaf-litter and mud, Hawkfrost watched the ThunderClan deputy until he disappeared back into his own forest.

Seeing Graystripe made him remember Stormfur and Feathertail, and that made him think of the period of time they, along with four others, had gone looking for Midnight. Insulted as he was that he hadn't been selected to go on the first journey–he'd deserved it, deserved to show the others the kind of power he had, deserved to rise and show RiverClan he was more than a rogue-born cat–he was glad that he'd had the opportunity to become deputy. He'd liked the feeling of power, of being able to issue orders and have them obeyed. More than that, he'd enjoyed punishing cats who disobeyed his orders. Hawkfrost dreamed of what it must feel like to be Clan leader, having nine lives, holding ultimate power over the whole Clan, having no one outranking you.

He'd been careful, though, during his short time as deputy. Lord the power too much and he'd become unpopular. Cats would hate him, and he didn't want that. He wanted cats to like him, respect him, even the weak cats. Weak cats were pawns, and pawns were useful.

Hawkfrost narrowed his eyes, enjoying the memories of being deputy. He'd been furious when Mistyfoot had made her return from the Twoleg traps, but had taken the unexpected blow stoically; complaints about the loss of power wasn't good. It left a bad impression.

He knew it wasn't long before he made his return to the position of deputy; Mistyfoot was getting older, and with the leaf-bare cold, Mistyfoot would only need to 'accidently' fall into the lake. Granted, she was RiverClan and could swim, but a sudden plunge into water so icy it burned sent the strongest swimmers into shock.

It was a good thing the Clans had come to this new land; the river never got as cold as the lake already was, even in the harshest of leaf-bares.

He only had to wait for the proper conditions, and he would be deputy. Again. And this time, Mistyfoot wouldn't be able to come back.

;-;-;-;


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** In response to **Rushtail's Loyality**: like I said in an earlier chapter, I'm just plain not doing very minor characters. That eliminates several of your requests. I'll try some of the bigger characters, but I won't do "filler" characters. They have no distinct personality, and are therefore difficult to write.

Okay, yeah, so I said I'd do a few cats per update, but I haven't updated this in ages and I figured I'd give what I've got, and what I've got right now is another single-cat chapter. Don't bother complaining that you wanted more cats in this update if you did, because I'll just ignore you.

;-;-;-;

Mistyfoot scanned the camp, checking that every cat had some fresh-kill before selecting a silvery fish for herself. Normally it was only apprentices who did such a scan, making sure they wouldn't get in trouble for eating before the whole Clan was fed, but it was a habit Mistyfoot had developed. In the old territory, before she'd gotten captured by the Twolegs, she'd insisted every cat get some food before she did.

But she didn't do it to purposely make herself look like a selfless, pure-hearted deputy; she did it because that was who she was. And if that painted her a selfless, pure-hearted deputy, that was fine.

As she worked on her fish (which was good and fat, even for a fish), a small gray feather blew past Mistyfoot's nose, shaken loose by the wind from a mourning dove on the fresh-kill pile. Seeing the feather tumble past reminded Mistyfoot, as it always did, of Feathertail.

She snorted lightly. _She's not coming back. Stop pretending she will. _Mistyfoot had formed a close friendship with Feathertail while she was her mentor, and the bond had deepened when Feathertail was made a warrior. She reminded Mistyfoot of Silverstream, both in looks and attitude, which was probably why they got on so well.

Mistyfoot had been proud to learn of Feathertail's part in the journey and the reason for her disappearance at the Clan's old home; still, the memories were bittersweet. The cats she'd lost–brother Stonefur, mother Bluestar, father Oakfur, foster mother Graypool, friend Silverstream, former apprentice and friend Feathertail–she'd never had a chance to say a proper good-bye.

Stonefur had already been dead, all those moons ago in what had briefly been the TigerClan camp, and at first, Mistyfoot had felt guilty about accepting her brother's position as deputy. She felt he'd been taken from his place too quickly–taken from _life _too quickly–and, in the time it took her to make the decision about becoming deputy after Leopardstar asked her, felt that she had no right to fill her brother's space. Then she decided that Stonefur would be proud of her taking his place; Oakfur had once told her that Stonefur had been born minutes before she, technically making Stonefur her older brother, and older brothers were usually proud when little sisters shouldered real responsibility.

Mistyfoot had been given a sparse few seconds to wish her mother well on her journey to StarClan, to say that she forgave her for keeping the secret of Mistyfoot and Stonefur's true parentage for so many moons. She was grateful Firestar had allowed her and Stonefur to share tongues with Bluestar before her burial, but...it would have been much better if Bluestar had been alive.

She wasn't even a part of the battle where Oakfur died; in fact, if she recalled correctly, she had been asleep. She'd known that a small RiverClan patrol was going to try and reclaim Sunningrocks, but she hadn't known that Stonefur and Oakfur were going to be members of the attack patrol. When the patrol came back near dawn, Mistyfoot had almost been sick when she saw her father's body, crushed horribly by the rock collapse.

Then came Graypool. The light gray she-cat had loved her and Stonefur as if she'd given birth to them, and Mistyfoot, having once been a queen herself, knew that there were very few queens who would lovingly raise kits not their own. Even after learning of her true parentage, Mistyfoot had not loved Graypool any less; the proud she-cat who had nursed and raised her and Stonefur had been very close to Mistyfoot, closer than queens generally were to their kits.

Mistyfoot's ties of friendship with Silverstream had been tested when the silver tabby she-cat got involved with that ThunderClan tom. Mistyfoot could still remember every word of some of their arguments, and wished she could forget them; they were not happy memories, and now Mistyfoot wondered if Firestar and Graystripe's friendship had been under strain as well. Still, Mistyfoot had admired Silverstream for her courage in daring to meet Graystripe, and had been truly happy for Silverstream when she told Mistyfoot she was expecting kits. Mistyfoot was comforted by the fact that Silverstream was in StarClan, and, if Leopardstar should die, hoped that she would see her old friend at in Moonpool when she made the journey to receive her nine lives.

Feathertail, though, Mistyfoot could not be sure rested with StarClan. She had died, after all, in the territory and camp of the Tribe, and, though Mistyfoot did not possess the knowledge of StarClan that Leopardstar and Mothwing did, she was afraid that their warrior ancestors had not been able to see Feathertail in the Tribe's cave. Mistyfoot had once tried to ask Mothwing if, during any of her Moonpool visits, she had seen Feathertail in her dreams, but the medicine cat refused to give even the barest hint of her dreams.

Mistyfoot sighed, stood, and arched her back. She reflected on her losses: six cats, both friends and kin, and the old territory, then shook herself and went to send out the evening patrol. It wasn't healthy to dwell in painful memories.

;-;-;-;


End file.
